


this is your heart (can you feel it)

by kay_emm_gee



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 07:16:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8880889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_emm_gee/pseuds/kay_emm_gee
Summary: Three weeks of living together, and it wasn’t terrible. Bellamy was infallibly quiet whenever he left for early morning scouting shifts, and she’d finally managed to convince him to go right back to sleep when someone called her for a late night medical emergency instead of going with her. He was tidier than she was--too often she had to scrounge for her clothes on his side of the room, muttering apologies as she did so--but she had the upper hand on making small talk. Often it was just about what was next on their list for surviving the winter, but still, she made the effort.
 or, the ark never makes it down, winter comes to the ground, and clarke & bellamy find themselves living together





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays, my friend! I went with canon divergent because s1 are the awesome days, and threw in a little roommate friends-to-lovers as well :) Hope you enjoy <3

Winter was setting in, and they had just finished the cabins in time. The morning they put the door on the last one, there was frost coating the leaves hanging over the camp wall. Soon enough, the dropship’s sides were going to be coated in ice; at least now the delinquents wouldn’t be. Clarke knew frostbite could still be a problem, but significantly less with the new shelters.

It wasn’t until they were getting everyone settled that Monty asked, “Wait, which one is yours?”

Clarke halted in directing two girls to their assigned cabin. “Huh. I don’t know, actually.”

Monty raised his eyebrows. “How did you not put yourself somewhere? You’ve been obsessing over who to put with who ever since Raven and Miller drew up the plans for the cabins.”

“You try making a hundred teenagers room together and keep track of your own shit at the same time. If I had to fend off one more request for this person or that person, or shut down a complaining tirade--”

Holding up his hands, Monty shushed her. “Alright, alright. I’m just saying, we should figure out where you’re going to live. And if you say ‘later’, I’m going to stick you with Jasper.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, but sighed in capitulation. “Honestly, I don’t think there’s room left in any of the cabins, and since I’m going to be practically living in the dropship anyways for medical, I’ll just stay there. The second floor is insulated, so I won’t freeze.”

“You should have someone around,” Monty said softly. He paused in sorting some blankets, and when she didn’t do the same, she felt him tug on her arm.

Acquiescing, she stopped and looked him square on. “I’ll be fine, Monty, really.” Then she smiled wryly and added, “Besides, at the rate these idiots get hurt, I doubt I’ll ever have a minute to myself.”

Monty tried to look disapproving, but she could see the amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Fine. But I am definitely going to make you have a sleepover in our cabin once in awhile so you are properly socialized.”

Clarke smacked him lightly on the arm, and they were both smothering laughter as they resumed their sorting.

Later that night, when everyone was finally settled, Clarke retreated to her new home. Despite her exhaustion, she managed to complete an hour’s worth of work organizing medical. Thankfully no one had raided the supplies while she was busy with other things today. It was practically a miracle, and she trudged up to her bed on the second level, satisfaction settling low and warm in her gut.

 _This just may work out after all_ , she thought hazily as sleep claimed her.

* * *

“Trina needs to move cabins.”

Clarke didn’t even look up from pouring aliquots of Jasper’s new batch of medicinal moonshine (which was somehow less strong than the batches he made for nights around the campfire, go figure) at Bellamy’s declaration. “No.”

“Clarke.”

“ _No one_ is switching cabins. That was the rule, and it’s the rule I’ve had to repeat pretty much every day since we moved everyone in. No exceptions.”

“Clarke, she needs to move.”

The seriousness in his tone finally made her glance up. He was looking down at her with a little bit of pleading, and it softened his face in a way she hadn’t seen in awhile. The approach of winter had been daunting for both of them; the dangers they would face from the frigid weather didn’t leave much room for anything other than planning, preparing, and worrying. Clarke searched his expression for another minute; the genuineness she saw there convinced her, enough to even prevent asking more questions. She trusted his judgement, so with a simple shrug, she said, “Alright.”

His eyes widened slightly in surprise at her agreement, and then he nodded. As he turned to walk away, the next logical thought hit her. “Wait!” she called out. “Who’s she switching with?”

“She’s not switching,” he answered over his shoulder, still moving back to the yard. “She’s taking my spot.”

“Wait, what?”

He didn’t respond, just pushed through the insulated curtain that now hung over the dropship entrance. Clarke called his name twice, but he didn’t come back. For barely half a moment she wondered who he was going to squish in with, until it dawned on her.

“Shit,” she sighed under her breath, then stood up and headed to the second level of the dropship. She needed to move her things around because her new roommate was going to need some space of his own.

* * *

“You snore,” Bellamy grumbled as he plopped down next to her. The log shook, and her morning rations nearly tumbled out of her hands.

Shooting him a dark look, she retorted, “You talk in your sleep.”

From across the fire, Octavia snorted. “Greeks or Romans?”

“ _That’s_ what he’s mumbling about?” Clarke asked incredulously.

“He doesn’t just talk in his sleep...he tells stories,” Octavia announced smugly.

Bellamy hunched his shoulders then flipped his sister off. Clarke laughed, a few of the others joining in. She glanced at Wells, who raised an eyebrow. She started to roll her eyes but stopped immediately when she saw amusement creep into her friend’s expression.

“Just wait until Clarke goes to bed tipsy one night, Bellamy,” he drawled, “then you’ll get a whole symphony of snores. Somehow, her lack of melody and tone deafness gets even worse in a drunken sleepiness.”

“I hate you,” Clarke declared petulantly as the delinquents started laughing at her as well.

“Aw, you two are a perfect match then!” Octavia cooed.

Clarke muttered at her to check on the breakfast ration levels at the exact same time as Bellamy barked at her to go get more firewood. Immediately they exchanged a guilty glance. Bellamy quirked a dry half-smile at her, and she mirrored it.

Soon enough the delinquents found something else to amuse them, but Clarke kept glancing sideways at Bellamy. She didn’t realize until Octavia’s throwaway observation how acclimated she was to always being with him. Working together, living together didn’t mean they never clashed, but somehow, it now felt more natural to be in his orbit than not.

She smiled down at her remaining handful of nuts, simultaneously wondering how in the hell they got to this point and appreciating it too.

* * *

Three weeks of living together, and it wasn’t terrible. Bellamy was infallibly quiet whenever he left for early morning scouting shifts, and she’d finally managed to convince him to go right back to sleep when someone called her for a late night medical emergency instead of going with her. He was tidier than she was--too often she had to scrounge for her clothes on his side of the room, muttering apologies as she did so--but she had the upper hand on making small talk. Often it was just about what was next on their list for surviving the winter, but still, she made the effort.

His responses were polite but succinct, and while he cracked a joke or a smile every once so often, there was a hardness to it. Despite all the sides of Bellamy she had seen since landing on Earth--and she’d seen a _lot_ of him, during their vulnerable moments while trying to survive down here as well as the few times she walked in on him changing--there was still a final distance she couldn’t bridge.

It wasn’t until their second month of cohabitating--and a shared, stolen flask of moonshine--that the last of his walls came down. As they sat in their room, sitting across from each other and sipping from full tin cups, she asked him for a story.

“A story?” he asked dubiously. Then he snorted a bit, shaking his head.

“Yes, a story,” she repeated. She beckoned at him in encouragement, then wheedled, “ _Please?_ ”

“You sound like Octavia,” he grumbled, but it was with a smile so Clarke merely leaned back in happy anticipation.

He told a short one that night, but it still made all the difference. Clarke suddenly saw who Bellamy was, who he had been before the ground, who he still was underneath all the dirt and blood and responsibility they shared: a dreamer, a believer, heart and soul made flesh.

That night she fell asleep with the sound of his voice in her mind. She dreamt of capricious gods, terrifying monsters, and heroes who somehow, against all odds, averted the tragic paths that fate had lined up for them.

* * *

Clarke didn’t ask him for another story, but she got more anyways. The cold going around the camp finally hit her, and she spent four miserables days cooped up in bed. On the second night, Bellamy stayed after bringing her dinner and told her not just one myth, but three. She sniffled all the way through them, choking out a rough laugh here and there when he made dry under-his-breath commentary along with the more dramatized story narrative.

“Requests for tomorrow night?” he asked later, in the pitch black of their room and long after she thought he was asleep.

“You don’t have to,” she offered half-heartedly.

“Please. They were trying to make a bong for the moonshine tonight. You’re saving me from their stupidity.”

She laughed under her breath, and said, “Alright, but I want another night of dealer’s choice. The least I can do in exchange for your time and talent.”

He was quiet for a moment after that, and she dared to add, “You’re a really gifted storyteller, Bellamy.”

His _thanks_ was soft and quiet and heavy, and Clarke rolled over in her sleeping bag, not sure why her heart was suddenly pounding rapidly against her ribcage.

* * *

It was inevitable that they would need to replenish their food stores before spring, Animals didn’t venture near enough to their camp anymore, and they were burning through their pre-winter prepared vegetation options faster than expected. Still, it didn’t sit well with Clarke to watch Bellamy and his group suit up for a prolonged hunting trip. She hovered as they bundled up in the fur-lined, water-resistant gear--improvements all thanks to Raven and her genius--and was unable to keep her worry in check.

“We’ll be fine,” Bellamy said gruffly as she escorted them to the gate.

“You better be.” It came out weakly, and her uneasy smile that went with it further belied her worry.

Bellamy stepped closer, so Clarke had to tilt her head up to meet his reassuring gaze. “We’ll be gone a week, tops. And you can’t send out a search party for us until then. Promise?”

She wrinkled her half-frozen nose. “Fine. But that means _one_ week exactly, not a day over. Don’t make me deal with finding a new roommate.”

That made Bellamy crack a smile, and he stepped away saying, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Clarke watched them hike off into the frost-covered woods, staring at the spot where they disappeared in the trees long enough that her toes went numb.

* * *

It was difficult to fall asleep without him there. Their room was too quiet; without his steady breathing to lull her into drowsiness, Clarke spent the first two nights staring up through the dark at the ceiling.

On the third night, though sleep was nowhere within reach, she lay there, eyes closed, desperately trying to shut her brain down and drift off. Instead, spots kept dancing in her vision. Flopping onto her back she sighed, resigning herself to another restless night. Slowly, the spots spread and spiraled out, her mind starting to make sense of them.

Clarke sat straight up in bed, eyes flying open to stare widely into the quiet darkness. She grinned and started planning how fast she would need to work in the next four days to finish her project before Bellamy came home.

* * *

“You’re late!” Clarke yelled as she strode towards the group coming through the gate. They were back on day nine, but still--two days too long for her nerves.

“Cut us some slack,” Bellamy panted, leaning further on Miller and Monroe as they came to a halt. “Can’t move too well with a twisted ankle.”

“You’re still late,” she insisted stubbornly, because to say anything else meant the fear twisting her gut in knots would come gushing out.

Bellamy rolled his eyes, tried to hobble forward, then hissed in pain.

“Christ, stop doing that,” Miller demanded. “We’re back, so slow down, speedracer.”

“Get him to the dropship, upstairs,” she said to his support system.

He sent her a look. “Med bay will be fine.”

“Upstairs,” she insisted, making sure Miller and Monroe were in agreement. They both nodded, and she sighed in relief. If Bellamy stayed in the med bay, he’d try and walk around camp before he was fully healed. If she sequestered him upstairs, though he might curse her out for it, he would be forced to rest for the right amount of time with no risk of permanent damage to his ankle.

“I’m demanding stories, then!” He yelled back, and Clarke ducked her head to hide her smile, because he’d be getting stories, alright, just not in the way he might expect.

* * *

After seeing to his injury, Clarke found herself overwhelmed with tasks to deal with the hunting group’s return. There was meat to prep for storage, then the storehouse to reorganize, then the rations plan to redo, then the non-edible supplies planning to talk through with Raven and Monty, just and then, and _then, and then._

She did manage to find a spare minute here and there to check on Bellamy, though he was sleeping when she peeked into the second level around early evening. It was a relief, to see him acquiescing to rest so easily. He certainly needed it, and more so, deserved it. She glared at anyone in the med bay who raised their voice over a whisper, and shooed everyone out by dinnertime. She ate with Raven and Wells, visited Harper and Fox, got talked into playing a quick round of quarters with Monty, Miller, and Jasper, until she finally warded all her friends off and headed back to her room.

Bellamy was still sleeping when she climbed upstairs. After changing in the low light of the lamp that had been left on, she pulled out a few precious pieces of paper from the ream that Wells had gifted her for the recently passed holiday. With scrounged charcoal, she began to sketch random images: the forest lined with frost, Miller laughing, Harper smiling. And, as always, she circled around to drawing Bellamy. There was never a specific moment she depicted, just different versions of who he was--one she had seen, others that she could only picture.

So intent, she didn’t notice the lamp light dimming, nor the glow now appearing from above, nor the slight rustling from across the room.

Only his voice, awestruck, cutting through the dim silence caught her. “What did you do?”

Her hand jerked, making a dark smudge across an otherwise well-executed drawing. “What?”

Bellamy struggled to sit up, craning his head towards the ceiling. She was halfway across the room to help him before the realization dawned on her. She glanced up as well, to see the neon green, blue, and red paint above them depicting--in luminescent glory--scenes from the stories he knew. Some he had told her already, others (the favorites he had yet to tell) she had gleaned from Octavia.

“What did you do?” He repeated in a reverent whisper, even as he waved away her hovering hands. She let him be, because he could sit up well enough on his own, and because she was too nervous to do much else than twist her fingers together in apprehension.

“I figured our room could use a little decor,” she murmured in a tone that tried to be disaffected but didn’t quite get there. Her throat closed up and her chest grew warm watching him as he continued to take in her work.

“How--”

“Raven’s been developing it as a safety device to use when we’re traveling out at night, for visibility. I asked her for some of the test batches. Tried to make it like a fresco, but it’s just based off of the art I’ve seen in books. And your stories, of course.” She stopped herself from saying more, from babbling right into something she couldn’t take back.

Bellamy said her name, then looked down at her. Wonder danced in his eyes, and it made her breath catch, seeing yet another side of him. This one was just for her, _because_ of her, and because of that, she stopped thinking. Clarke just leaned forward and captured his mouth with her own. When he responded immediately, reaching up to cup her head and pull her closer, she smiled into the kiss. It was brief, like his first story, but she knew--just like she knew that other night--that this wouldn’t be their only one.

“Good thing I made it back to camp,” he teased.

She smacked his chest lightly, then leaned in to bury her face in the warm crook of his neck. “Shush.”

“And good thing we’re already roommates, because that makes this a whole lot easier.” Bellamy then leaned back, lowering himself back into his bedding while pulling her into his side. Clarke nestled in, glancing down to make sure his ankle was still stabilized and that she wouldn’t hit it in the middle of the night.

“Go to sleep Bellamy,” she murmured before pressing a kiss to his chest.

“Night, Clarke,” he answered, and even with her eyes closed, she could tell he was smiling. She was too, and she woke up smiling, still right next to him, which was where she planned to be for the very extensive forseable future.


End file.
